


And Into the Fire

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [169]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avenger Loki (Marvel), Avenger Reader (Marvel), Blood and Injury, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Mission Fic, Missions Gone Wrong, POV Loki (Marvel), Protective Loki (Marvel), Reader-Insert, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28682208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: When a mission with Loki goes horribly wrong, he has to get you to safety, and then he has to wait for you to wake up. The silence leaves too much space for him to Think.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [169]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 17
Kudos: 182





	And Into the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of a generic Mission Fic, and the reader does get injured. If that’s not something you want to read about in a lullaby, please feel free to give this one a miss. It’s not all fluff and softness, but I just felt like writing something wherein someone takes care of you and worries over you. I hope you like this. If not, I'm planning to go HARDCORE FLUFF for next week, so stay tuned!

Anything that could go wrong, would—and at the worst possible time. Loki had heard of the Midgardian belief, had read about it here and there, but he’d never really put much stock in it. He was not of Midgard, after all, and so the silly traditions that Midgardians held so dear—they all felt preposterous to him. But this mission was doomed from the start.

It wasn’t supposed to be particularly taxing. Fury rarely sent him on missions of any true importance—certainly not without Thor to babysit. But this was just supposed to be reconnaissance, laying low and taking notes, and so he’d been shipped off to somewhere in Eastern Europe with you.

Maybe that was the start of everything. He didn’t really like spending much time with you. On the surface, you seemed perfectly tolerable. You were quiet enough, and unassuming, but with a peculiar spark in your eyes that kept you from being as boring as the rest of your kind. When he spoke to you, you had plenty to say, but you weren’t constantly running your mouth like, say, Stark. He’d sparred with you in the gym from time to time (though reluctantly at first), and you were a strong fighter, for your size. The problem was the way you looked at him. When he looked up and caught you looking, your gaze didn’t skitter away like the others’. Instead, you tended to give him a small smile and a subtle nod. It gave him the uncomfortable sensation that you knew more than you should. He didn’t really like it when you looked at him, so he stopped looking at _you_ so he couldn’t catch you.

On the flight here, you’d both been quiet. The specifics of the mission were hovering above your heads, of course, and, while Loki sat deathly still in his seat, you were fidgety and squirmy. You drummed your fingers quietly against your knees. You bounced your leg. You shifted in your seat so many times that he’d finally lost his patience and snapped at you to just be still for a while. Then he’d had to try not to pay attention as you crossed your arms in front of yourself, tucking your hands under your arms, and did your best not to move.

That’s how it always was with you: you had a knack for making him regret nearly everything he said to you, and there was just a way about you that told him you had no idea that you were doing it.

He wouldn’t have expected it, but the two of you worked well together. Your intuition made it so that he rarely had to speak his words aloud to you: it felt like you often just knew what he needed, or what he wanted to point out to you. In time, he found that he was similarly adept at reading your body language. It made things easy when you had to be absolutely silent. Near the end of your time together, he’d actually found himself looking forward to future missions with you. You were talented in the field, and, when there was a larger task at hand to distract you from staring into the depths of his being, Loki found that he rather liked it when you looked at him.

But then, without warning, men with guns had rained down upon your hiding spot. It was impossible to know how they’d discovered you—no one but SHIELD should have known you were even here—but there hadn’t been time to puzzle that out. There had barely been time to flee. You’d had to leave most of your data behind, and all of your hardware. Loki had dragged you into a back alley so he could figure out how to get the both of you to safety, but you’d yanked yourself away from him and slipped back inside. He hadn’t even had time to be angry with you before the shot rang out. He heard men shouting and followed you back in, just in time to see a man in black struggling to hoist you over his shoulder. Things went sort of blurry, then: his vision had dimmed out somewhat as he tore through their forces, wiping them out before they had the chance to do anything to him.

He didn’t take the time to look around after that. He didn’t bother to make sure that all the threats were neutralized. He had bigger concerns than that. Like the fact that you were still lying on the ground. Like the fact that even from here, he could smell the metallic tang of blood. Like the fact that he had no idea if you were even breathing. Still, he scooped you into his arms and got as far away from that place as he could.

Dimly, he could remember Stark’s voice crackling in his ear. He spoke of a safe house nearby. Loki couldn’t be sure he said anything in response. He wasn’t even sure how he got to that so-called safe house, but soon enough he was standing just inside the door with you, still and silent in his arms.

You coughed once, and that was enough. It shook Loki out of his daze and he placed you carefully on the floor. Tony was still talking, asking a barrage of questions in an increasingly strained voice, but Loki was busy looking for your wound. When he found it, he felt frozen. Surely mortals could not withstand something like that. It was like he could see into the depths of your body, and he knew enough to know that that was Wrong.

Banner’s voice interrupted his thoughts. He spoke gently, even as urgency colored his words. He asked questions about what had happened, about what Loki was seeing. Something about him made it easier for Loki to respond. Banner talked him through the process of undoing your suit, of cleaning the wound, of finding the stashed first-aid kit and doing his best to patch you up. At no point in the process did Loki remember the way the Hulk had absolutely destroyed him, once. It was all he could do to focus on Banner’s voice and the calming way he was speaking and the quiet competence in his words. He knew what he was doing, and he was sharing that knowledge with Loki to keep you alive.

When he’d taped the last bits of gauze against your side, Bruce let out a sigh. “Keep her warm,” he said. “We’re coming to get you. Just stay alive.”

And that was it. The earpiece faded out and the silence of the house—well, cabin, really, only a few steps above a glorified hut—closed in around him. If he focused, he could hear your breathing, low and quiet and a little too raspy, but undeniably there. His body ached. He felt exhausted in the way that only came after absolutely draining himself using his magic. His heart was beating far too quickly and his stomach was in knots. But there were no men with guns. The others were coming to get you. They could take you to the med bay and get you real medical attention. Maybe you’d be alright. He muttered one last healing incantation under his breath, even though he wasn’t sure he had enough left in him to power it. It was worth a try.

He built a fire. He stripped off his wet outerwear, soaked as it was with remains of the snow and hail that had pelted him on his way here. You were similarly soaked, but, now that the immediate danger of blood loss had passed, Loki felt strange about stripping you any further. For now, he tucked a scratchy blanket around you and vowed to keep an eye on you.

If he were here alone, Loki might have merely taken up residence in a chair and waited for extraction, but you remained a constant presence in that tiny cabin even though you’d yet to say a word. He built up the fire to keep you warm. He tucked the blanket a little more securely around you, careful not to touch your wound. If you woke up— _When_ you woke up—would you be hungry? Thirsty? He ducked into the kitchen and kept his ears trained on the other room so he wouldn’t miss any signs that you were waking up. There wasn’t much in the way of food. He shouldn’t have expected that there would be. But he did find a few non-perishables, mostly canned and freeze-dried things, and he did his best to prepare them for you.

You whimpered. It was rough and ragged, but, in that moment, Loki wasn’t sure he’d ever heard anything sweeter. He was quick to return to your side, and arrived just as you managed to drag your eyes open. When your gaze landed on him, it was a little bleary, not entirely there, and he found that he had to force away his disappointment at the fact that you weren’t looking right through him.

“Where are we? What happened?” You started to try to sit up, but he placed one hand on your chest to pin you down. You let him. It was unnerving.

“You charged into the middle of a team of men with guns,” he said simply, allowing his voice to go chill. “Brilliant, by the way, mortal. Well done.”

You groaned and he saw the way your arm moved beneath the blanket. It was like you were digging for something. He was afraid that you’d note the way he’d taken your suit partially-off, or that you’d reach for your bandages, but you didn’t. Thankfully. After you’d found whatever it was you were digging for, you struggled a bit with the blanket, to the point that he actually reached out to uncover you. You dropped a drive onto your belly as though the effort of taking it out had already drained you.

“I wasn’t going to leave this behind, _immortal_. That was the whole point of everything.”

The data. The information. You’d gone charging back inside for this? You’d risked your life for whatever information SHIELD had sent you here for? Anger and pride wrestled inside him. Of course you were brave, almost to the point of stupidity. That was the case for all of the mortals on the team. But data was replaceable. _You_ were not. He picked up the drive and tucked it into his pocket but said nothing.

You drew in a deep breath and then tapped his hand where it still rested against your chest. “Will you help me sit up? I don’t want to be lying down.”

A protest rose in Loki’s throat, but one look at you stilled it. Your eyes were wide, almost verging on fear. It was clear that you didn’t like having to ask for help with something so simple, but you’d found the courage to ask him anyway. Surely that should be rewarded. He swallowed hard and nodded. It was easier to help you than he thought it’d be. That only served to remind him how fragile you mortals actually were. It would have been so easy for that shot to take you out. You were breathing a little too hard, and clearly trying to stifle further groans, but, with his help, you managed to sit up and then scoot backwards so you were pressed against the sofa to support you. He tucked the blanket around your shoulders before retreating to a safer distance. He saw the way your hand went to your injured side.

“Lousy shot,” you said in a voice that sounded entirely too weak to be humorous. He could feel your eyes on him, but he didn’t look up at you.

“Not lousy enough. He got you.” He didn’t like thinking about the alternatives. About following you back into that room only to find you lying there, bloodless, on the floor. About having to watch as the enemies stepped over you, through your blood, on their way out of the room. As uncomfortable as you made him, he was slowly beginning to realize that he didn’t like the idea of the Tower without you.

He rose to his feet before you could reply. Now that you were awake, you were likely to be uncomfortable in that suit. All of your belongings were back at the base, of course, but maybe there was something that might work here. He strode down the short corridor leading into the back of the “house”, and found a room with a tiny bed and a chest of drawers. With any luck, the two of you wouldn’t be here long enough for him to have to force you to take the bed, but it was good to know that it was here. Thankfully, there were a few sets of sweats in the drawers. He pulled one of the sweatshirts over his own head to block out some of the cold, and then grabbed another set to take back to you. If you wanted to change, he’d have to help you. He couldn’t let you try to manage it, not with that hole in your side. He hesitated for a moment before leaving the room. It wasn’t like him to be this nervous about anything. He forced himself to straighten his shoulders and lift his chin before returning to the room with the fireplace.

You were still sitting there with your head tilted backwards against the couch. You must have heard him coming, but you didn’t jerk to attention when he did. He found he could appreciate that. Maybe he let his eyes linger too long on the exposed flesh of your throat.

He was only looking for a pulse. That’s all.

“Your suit is soaked,” he said, keeping his voice low in hopes of keeping it from cracking. He dropped the sweats on the couch cushion beside your head. “You should change into something dry.”

“Does anyone know where we are?” You cracked one eye open to look up at him. “Do _you_ know?”

“It’s a place Stark said he set up. He told me how to get us here, and then he said that help was coming. We’ll be fine. Let me help you.” Dimly, he remembered how cold you’d felt as he was dressing your wound. You didn’t touch him often in the Tower, but, when you did, your touch was always so much warmer than this.

“I guess you’ve already seen me naked,” you said slowly, and pushed the blanket away. With some difficulty, you lifted your arms into the air and allowed Loki to pull the sweatshirt down over your head. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t tell you that he wouldn’t look. He didn’t tell you that he _hadn’t_ looked. All of his attention had been focused on the blood that was pouring out of you—he hadn’t been particularly interested in taking advantage of the situation. He helped you to your feet and supported you against his body while you struggled to kick your suit down your legs. You were still too weak, too wobbly. Bruce had assured him that your wound didn’t sound life-threatening, but how could he have known how much of your life it had already drained away? You stepped into the sweatpants and, with his help, pulled them into place. This clothing was much too large for you, but it was dry, and it was warm, and it wasn’t soaked with your blood.

This time, Loki settled you onto the couch itself, and once again you tipped your head backwards. You were breathing so heavily. He felt certain that you were bleeding again, but wasn’t sure he wanted to check. If you were, what could he do about it? He retrieved the blanket from the floor and spread it over your lap. If it was his job to keep you warm, he’d do it.

When he glanced at your face, you were already looking at him. Your eyes were a little bit sharper now, and Loki found that he was intensely glad for that. He didn’t realize he was smiling a bit until you returned the favor. “Thank you,” you murmured. The heaviness in your words spoke volumes. He nodded and reached to take your hand.

You squeezed his hand weakly.

The Avengers—and rescue—were still half a world away. But you were conscious, and you were warm, and you were awake. And Loki would take that for now.


End file.
